Chapter 20: The Confrontation at the West Side
The black SUV, driven by the silent, imposing Frank, cut through the early evening traffic. On the dashboard screen, a GPS map showed the route, transitioning from the sparse, industrial outskirts to the dense, pulsing heart of Chicago.
*"Current ETA is three minutes,"* **Earth** announced in Carter's ear. *"You are entering the core urban area. Expect increased non-magical surveillance from municipal cameras."*
A profile of Yolanda Johnson flashed onto Carter's display. She was an attractive, worn-looking **African American woman, 18 years old**. The youth of the mother made Carter pause; she was barely older than he was. *"Born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. Both parents deceased."*
Carter leaned back against the leather seat, the last detail catching him. He was a wealthy, magically-empowered orphan; she was a struggling, parentless teen. The common thread of loss was immediate.
The SUV pulled off the main thoroughfare and led them deep into the city's **West Side**. The buildings here were immense, concrete housing blocks—austere and imposing.
*"This building houses thousands of low-income families,"* Earth reminded him, the gentle, digital chuckle absent now. *"You are now entering the real world, Carter. The world you must protect."*
The car stopped. Carter adjusted the suit jacket of his CESGA cover, clipped the mana scanner watch onto his wrist, and stepped out onto the concrete pavement.
He found the right door on the fifth floor. He could hear the argument before he even reached the peeling paint of the apartment number. The voices were strained, angry, and undeniably local.
A man's voice, thick with a distinctive **Chicago accent**, was yelling.
"On my soul, Yolanda, that's not my baby! Every baby in my family got black hair, man!"
"Yeah, you!" Yolanda shrieked back, the sound laced with desperation. "Your dumb ass don't see the news? All these kids being born like this!"
The man interrupted her, his voice rising to a frantic pitch of disbelief. "On my daddy's grave, ain't no kid in my family ever started walkin'! She ain't even two weeks old and she's **walking**, Yolanda!"
The mana scanner on Carter's wrist was already screaming, a pulsating red alert confirming the presence of an incredibly volatile, active **Fire Affinity Mana Core** just inches away. The argument was correct; Amina was defying human physics.
*KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.*
Carter delivered three firm, authoritative knocks.
The yelling stopped instantly. A moment of tense silence was followed by a sharp, frustrated expletive. The door was wrenched open with violent speed.
Standing in the doorway was a young, furious man, breathing heavily, his face etched with anger and terror. He took one look at Carter's professional suit and focused, calm demeanor, and his rage momentarily stalled, replaced by suspicion.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, blocking the entryway.
Carter met the man's eyes, projecting the cold confidence of an untouchable authority figure. "Centers for Epidemiological Study and Genetic Anomalies. I need to speak with Yolanda Johnson about her daughter, Amina."
Inside the small apartment, Carter could already feel the temperature rise, and he caught a glimpse of a small, red-haired baby wobbling precariously on the floor. The mission was underway.